He Belongs to Me
by bookyalex
Summary: COMPLETE Post-Truth: Mulder has "found" a way to save people from the alien invasion and drags Scully along with him to England to find the "cure". MSR, set mostly in England. Rating for swearing.
1. Premonitions

Title: He Belongs to Me

Summary: Post-Truth – Mulder claims to have found a way to save anyone who is willing to listen from the upcoming alien invasion – but things do not go according to plan. Light MSR, set mostly in England.

I would like to thank daydr3am3r for the inspiration of the title, and part of the story, I in no way take credit for the idea.

Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Files, they are the property of Fox, 1013 productions, Chris Charter, etc. I also do not own the lateral thinking puzzlers in this, they were taken from _Lateral Thinking Puzzlers,_ by Paul Sloane. Seeing as I am not Paul Sloane, I therefore do not own the puzzlers.

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NOVEMBER 13, 2003

CANARY WARF, LONDON, ENGLAND

1:54 AM

Scully panted, her breath drawn in long ragged gasps. She still held her gun, though her hands trembled from fatigue and cold. Not just her hands, either, but her legs, her entire body, in fact, was quaking. It would be no surprise to find this woman had hypothermia. Her once flaming hair was matted to her head, extinguished, clothing drenched. Anyone looking at her would be able to see that this woman was tired yet determined, not willing to give up. She probably would die before giving up, considering the stakes. Oh yes, the stakes were very high, and the game wasn't one she was willing to lose.

          Her gun was directed at a man, a familiar man, the man who claimed aliens had granted him immunity from lung cancer. She saw the man only for what he had done, what he had done not to him, but to everyone close to him, and now to the one person who had become of closest of them all. And that is how he should be seen, for this man has, of his own will, committed crimes against society and against others, creatures not from this earth. No, Scully was right to hate him, hate him for what he'd done.

          Mulder began to stir and was delivered a swift kick to the stomach for his trouble – so long as he didn't die, the offending thug could do what he pleased.

          "DON'T TOUCH HIM AGAIN," the fierce words came from a flaming haired woman who was nearly a foot and a half shorter than the thug. Her eyes flashed dangerously, daring the man to push her just that little bit further.

          She was right to hate him, because it hadn't started here, it started long before Fox William Mulder was even born, for the man had become an unwilling chess piece, whose identity had not yet been determined. He was played like a pawn yet utterly essential to the equation, fighting for what he sought to uncover while inexplicably aiding the truth to continue its hiding. He was a very interesting man indeed, one who had been abused his entire life by people who considered him to be an inferior, people who desired nothing more than to use him, use the piece they had so carefully crafted. Except, now, the piece was no longer doing as it should. Granted, he was here, but he certainly was not acting according to plan.

SEPTEMBER 19, 2003

WASHINGTON, D.C.

3:15 PM

          The phone rang several times before Dana Scully could get to it, hands busy putting in diamond studded earrings.

          "Hello, Dana Scully speaking."

          "Why Scully, I don't believe I've ever heard you answer your phone that way before."

          She recognized the familiar voice immediately. Though the two no longer worked together, they still kept in touch – a lot. More than most partners would, if you catch my drift.

          "Mulder, what is it?" she allowed a tinge of exasperation to color her voice.

          "You have to promise to hear me out, Scully."

          She was silent for a moment before she answered. "All right, I'll listen."

          "We need to go to England."

          Scully held her tongue rather than demanding an immediate explanation.

          "Remember how I told you that we needed to listen to the dead, that they would speak to us, tell us how to save ourselves if only we were willing to listen?"   

          "Yes, I remember, Mulder." her voice was soft, remembering the gravity of the situation.

          "Someone spoke to me."

*                           *                           *

          Scully had almost finished packing her suitcase when she heard the familiar rapping of knuckles on the apartment door. 

"Come in, it's open!"

          Mulder entered, removing their tickets and his passport from the bag before dropping it to the floor.

          Scully zipped up her bag and took the proffered ticket. Before she could look at it in detail, Mulder spoke.

          "I got us the earliest flight I could, it leaves at 6:45. We're going to fly into Gatwick Airport in London, then we have to take a train to get to London proper. Once there-"

          "Mulder, where exactly are we going, and why? Who spoke to you?" She interrupted, although she already knew the answer to the last question.

          Mulder considered his words before replying.

          "Samantha told me that we needed to go to Greenwich. Once we get there we should be able to figure out where we're going."

          "What do you mean, she told you? Mulder, how did you see her?"

          "I'll explain it to you in the car."

          Scully sighed, knowing she wouldn't get it out of him until he was good and ready. 

          "Whose car are we taking?"

          "It doesn't matter, I'm still driving," he teased.

          Scully rolled her eyes, a small smile spreading across her face, mumbling under her breath. "Machoman. . ."

*                           *                           *

          They ended up taking Mulder's car, and after several carefully planned taunts in the elevator Scully managed to obtain both his keys and driver's seat.

          Scully didn't prod him to tell her about how he'd heard Samantha – brown nosing wouldn't get her anywhere, it'd more likely just irritate him. After ten minutes of driving silently, Mulder finally decided to explain. 

          "I couldn't sleep so I was watching _Plan 9 from Outer Space_-"

          "That makes 43, doesn't it?"

          "And I went to go to the bathroom-"

          "Where are you going with this, Mulder?"

          "Will you please stop interrupting me?" It wasn't quite a snap, but his words stung.

          She winced, then allowed him to continue without further infringement.

          "And at first I thought it was one of those psychic commercials that always comes on, but it soon became apparent that it wasn't the television."

          He paused, expecting her to make a comment, some cynical response, but she simply glanced at him before returning her eyes to the road.

          "I could tell it was Samantha…" a mask of pain took over his face and for several seconds he was lost to torturous nostalgia. "She told me I needed to go to Greenwich, that there I would find something that would lead me to where I needed to go…that to understand I needed to see everything I would see."

          Scully slowed the car, ready to pull to the side of the road if need be.

          "You're sure this was a…visitation, Mulder? Not some hallucination brought on by lack of sleep and a desperation to save yourself? People have been known to-"

          He turned haunted eyes to her, stormy eyes which matched the skies of London. Her words puttered out at the sight of those eyes.

          She swallowed twice before she could speak, though she knew no words could answer to that. Pain that deep never healed, wasn't allowed to heal. Some people needed that pain to remember, because forgetting would be the worst thing that could happen to them. Mulder was one of those people.

          So she had to settle for trying to communicate all the hope and compassion and sympathy she could, that and a plea for forgiveness, for what had happened to Sam all those years ago and doubting him in the one thing he was the most certain of and for not being to help. But not pity, certainly not pity, after all he'd gone through he didn't deserve to be put through the shame of being pitied.

          After less than three seconds she broke the contact so she could see where she was driving.

          There was no point in apologizing if she was going to run them into a lake.


	2. Lateral Thinking Puzzlers

I had fun with this chapter. Sure, it's not overly important to the plot, but pssh, it was sure as hell fun to write. Enjoy!

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SEPTEMBER 19, 2003

Somewhere over the Atlantic

10:15 PM EST

          Amidst the snores, Mulder enjoyed – if not loved – a meal of sausage and mashed potatoes. At least it was served hot, and as an added bonus he had salad, coffee, and a mini Toblerone bar. All included in the price – ah, the joy of British Airways.

          Scully was among the lucky majority who did not suffer from insomnia and had donned the sleeping blindfold and was curled under an airline blanket with her head leaning against the window. The seat between them was occupied by none other than her socked feet.

          _How come she gets two seats and I get one when she's ten inches shorter than me. . ._

_          Because you like her._

_          I do not._

_          All right, you love her._

_          Will you just shut up?_

The voice obeyed, leaving behind a fading snicker. Mulder mentally berated the voice, finally tearing his eyes from Scully, her hair rumpled, her face clean of any expression except peaceful slumber.

_Told you so.___

_And I told YOU to shut up!_

_I can't shut up, I'm you._

_That doesn't mean anything._

_Oh great, now you're arguing with yourself Fox, just swell, just wonderful, absolutely stupendous. As if they need another excuse to lock you up._

The voice laughed before fading into oblivion, this time for good.

*                           *                           *

Sleep evaded him and Mulder settled for watching _Pirates of the Caribbean_ and _The Hulk_ on the screen set into the back of each seat, headphones donned. Scully stirred five hours into the nine hour flight and found it impossible to go back to sleep. She was observably aware of a gnawing hole in her stomach and a huge yawn was enough to drag Mulder out of the movie.

"Where are we, Mulder?"

He changed channels so that she could see the plot of their progress. After displaying the velocity and outside temperature in Spanish, the map came up. They were, quite literally, over the middle of the Atlantic, and for several hundred miles in each direction there was nothing except ocean.

Comforting.

"Do you have anything to eat?" she asked, combing her fingers through her hair. Mulder quenched the irrational impulse to stop seize her hand and slowly return it to the arm rest.

"Some Chex Mix, you can have both," he rummaged through the pocket on the back of the seat in front of him, pushing past the headphones and untouched safety brochures until he emerged, triumphant, with two snack-sized bags of airline brand Chex mix. 

Scully tore the first one open and began to empty the contents into her stomach.

"We still have four hours ahead of us, so I thought to pass the time…" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Scully nearly choked on her cheese-flavored pretzel.

"I am NOT going into the bathroom with you."

He feigned innocence, his eyes widening. "Why Scully, I'm surprised you'd think such a thing. I was merely suggesting we exercise our brains with some lateral thinking puzzlers."

She thought he was joking until he actually pulled out a book of them.

"You're kidding."

"I'll read first." He paused to flip the pages. "Okay, here's an easy one. 'Anthony and Cleopatra are lying dead on the floor of an Egyptian villa. Nearby is a broken bowl. There are no marks on their bodies and they were not poisoned. Not a person was in a villa when they died. How did they die?'"

Scully blinked several times before formulating a response. "Were they human?"

"Nope."

"Were they…in the bowl?"

"You're quick to catch on, Scully."

"All right, so someone knocked over their fishbowl."

"But who? There were no people in the villa."

"Um…a low flying plane?"

"This is the B.C.'s, Scully."

"You never said that."

"Do you give up?"

"No." She thought for a minute, Mulder's grin growing wider with each passing second.

"A dog."

"What kind of dog?"

"It doesn't matter!"

"It does to me." His grin had infected her face as well, and even though she was mad she couldn't help but chuckle.

He spoke, reading from the book, "'They died when their bowl was knocked over by a rather clumsy guard dog.' Oh, and by the way, they were goldfish."

She snatched the book from him, grumbling about getting him back.

"All right, Mr. Know-it-all mega-profiler. Here's one. 'The Deadly block of wood. A man lies dead inside a trailer. He has shot himself. Close by him is a plain block of wood about two feet long by one inch wide. The wood carries no writing or other markings, yet it is fair to say that the sight of this piece of wood on this day caused the man to commit suicide. Why should this be so?'"

"It was carved into a knife and the man took it as a sign to kill himself."

"When I say this takes a leap of logic, Mulder, I mean a real leap."

"Aliens implanted chips into his brain so that he had a phobia of wood and would kill himself upon seeing it."

Scully shook her head in exasperation. "Here's a clue – "

"No, I don't want a clue, let me figure this out."

"You're not going to figure it out, let me give you a clue."

"Okay, he saw the wood and since he was a vampire and knew he'd been discovered because the wood was a stake and was a warning, he faked his own death so he could run away and not be hunted down."

She gave him a 'Look' before continuing.

"Clues: 1) Was the man normal? No. If you can find his abnormality you are close to solving the problem. 2) Did his job depend on his abnormality? Yes; he worked in a circus. 3) Did he use the wood in relation to work? Yes. 4) Had the piece of wood been altered? Yes. 5) Did he commit suicide because he though his ability to do his job had been affected? Yes."

"He was a contortionist." Mulder spoke with surety.

Scully grinned before she shot him down in flames.

"Aw, come on, Scully…just one more hint?"

"That's all the hints there are! Besides, _you're_ the one with the Oxford Degree in psychology! If you can't figure out a little thinking problem from your own book…"

"That hurts, Scully."

She rolled her eyes. "Do you give up?"

"No! All right he was a…midget!"

"Ok, he's a midget, but why'd he kill himself?"

"Because aliens – "

"It has NOTHING to do with aliens, Mulder!" she laughed. The man behind her immediately shushed her and Mulder took advantage of the distraction to seize the book from Scully.

"Hey, that's cheating!" she whispered, leaning over to try and grab the book which he held out of reach while flipping to the back for the answers. "Give it back!"

"Just a minute, Scully, I almost found it…"

Half standing, she managed to retrieve the book just as Mulder arrived at the correct page.

"Come on, pleeaassseee?" Mulder widened his eyes, lower lip jutting out.

"No!" they were still whispering, not wanting to disturb the other passengers. Mulder made a grab at the book but Scully shoved the book under her, a smug smile stretching her face.

"You sure you want to put that there?" 

Scully mock glared in response. "Guess, Mulder, or give up!"

"If I guess can I try and get the book?"

"No! Do you give up or not?"

"Sure. Fine. Whatever."

Scully glared at him again before opening the book and flipping to the appropriate page. "'The man was a midget who worked in the circus as a star attraction because of his billing as the world's smallest dwarf. Each day, he measured himself with a piece of wood that was exactly his height. One day, a rival dwarf mischievously sawed two inches form the piece of wood. The man mistakenly thought he had grown and would therefore lose his fame and status as the world's smallest dwarf, so he committed suicide.'"

"How was I supposed to know that?"

"You're the profiler, you tell me!"

"I have the right to remain silent. Anything I say can and will be used against me by my partner. I have the right to an attorney. Seeing as I don't make enough-"

"Wimp." She grinned, popping another pretzel into her mouth.

Mulder fought the childish urge to stick his tongue out at her.


	3. Needle in a Haystack

**Note**: Rivergem brought up an interesting point, why aren't Mulder and Scully acting/thinking like a couple? That is a very good question. o_O Let me think of an excuse. Until then, chapter three! *sings*

**Disclaimer**: Don't own _Our Final Hour/Our Final Century_, or the X-Files, or Greenwich, yadda yadda.

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September 20, 2003

Train to London from Gatwick Airport

12:00 PM UTC

          Scully's head nodded as the train sped along age-old tracks, catching up on much-needed sleep she hadn't gotten on the flight. 

            _Before, I could only trust myself. Now, I can only trust you... and they've taken you away from me._

Mulder shook his head slowly, clearing his mind. Now where had that come from? That'd been nearly a decade ago…He winced, realizing how long he'd spent on his quest, only to find that all the time he had spent might as well have been a waste. What could he have been doing in those years? His mind drifted, his body swaying with the movements of the train. His reverie was disturbed by the occasional cough or sneeze, but was only broken by a sudden jerk as the train, which had just started to leave the platform, stopped, and two people jumped on. A minute later, the conductor came over the intercom.

          "I would just like to thank the two _idiots _who just jumped on the train at the last minute, causing other passengers who were already on the train to fall down."

          Mulder chuckled, then began to laugh. Scully had woken with the jerk and not missed a single word of the "thanks" bestowed upon the late passengers.

          She combed through her hair with her fingers, mumbling just loud enough for him to hear. "I think I like England." 

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September 20, 2003

Underground

2:15 PM

          After trying and failing four times, Scully and Mulder finally managed to get on the correct tube train to their hotel. It wasn't much, but they were traveling on a tight budget – the exchange rate wasn't exactly working in their favor. All through the underground ride, Mulder was trying to think of a way to tell Scully about their hotel rooms situation. Well, room might be more accurate. Finally, he settled on the direct approach.

          "Scully, how would you react, if because of the fact that we _are_ on a tight budget, and that we're no longer working in the Bureau, we had to, ah, share a hotel room?"

          Scully stared, enjoying the fact that her gaze was making him squirm. She pretended to consider for several seconds before answering.

"I don't suppose this is hypothetical?"

          He grinned sheepishly.

          She finally relented and allowed her expression to soften.

          "You get the couch."

--------------------------

September 20, 2003

Jurys Inn London

          "You know, Mulder, you don't _have _to sleep on the couch."

          "Ah, so the guilt trip worked."

"No, I just got tired of all your noise."

          Mulder had just spent the last five minutes rolling over, curling, squirming, and bouncing on the sofa, "trying to get comfortable." Considering how neither of them had gotten much sleep last night (five in the case of Scully and zero in Mulder's) she'd persuaded her partner to let them at least get a few hours of slumber. It hadn't been easy, considering the brevity of the situation, but she had managed it.

          He bounced off the couch and onto the bed, making loud sounds of contentment as he snuggled against the pillow. She smacked his arm. At least it was a king size. She shuddered at the thought of sharing a double.

          Shunning her shoes – she'd actually worn _sneakers_ – she pushed Mulder over so that she could roll down the covers.

          He started to say something she knew would end up eliciting at least a glare and at most a body slam and cut him off.

          "Are you always like this when you don't get enough sleep?"

          The lights flicked off.

          "Yup."

          Scully flopped on the bed, slipping under the covers and allowing herself to let out a sigh.

          "G'night, Scully."

          "Mulder, it's four o'clock in the afternoon." She could almost feel him grinning.

          "G'night Scully."

          Rolling her eyes, she settled into the bed. It was so soft, and warm, and quiet…She was just starting to doze off when she felt an arm drape around her waist, squeezing gently.

Despite both of their intentions, they slept through the night.

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September 21, 2003

Greenwich, England

8:00 AM

          The view was enough to startle her. Stretched before her was a gently dipping path, bordered on both sides by great maple trees, leading to an observatory at the top of a too-steep, spiraling path. Mulder stopped beside her, appreciating the site before resting his hand on her back and walking forward. Per norm, the hand soon dropped away.

          It took nearly fifteen minutes to reach the top of the path, the observatory to their right. Their breath emerged in puffs the same color as the sky. Rain began to drizzle, staining her jacket.

          "Inside?" She said, breathlessly. She really needed to exercise more.

          He nodded. "Inside."

          There was small gift shop located inside, and beyond that the miniature museum.

          Scully hesitated, some innate sense telling her to actually look in the gift shop rather than walking straight through the museum.

She stepped in carefully, as if tiptoeing into a dragon's den. 

"What is it, Scully?" 

She shrugged, walking past the various time gadgets. Pocket watches, wrist watches, ranging in price from about 20 pounds to several thousand. The agent came to a stop in front of a book written by Martin Rees. She picked up the hardcover, handing it to Mulder. Emblazoned on the flaming planet was the title in ominous futuristic type. _Our Final Century.___

Scully picked up her own copy and began to flip through it, stopping at the 'About the Author' page.

"Martin Rees is Professor of Cosmology and Astrophysics and Master of Trinity College at the University of Cambridge…says here that he was born in York, June 23, 1942…"

Mulder was skimming the pages, spending no more than five seconds on each one.

"This has to mean something, Scully…"

"That someone shares the same morbid opinion as you?"

"No, there's nothing in here about aliens…I don't see anything about global conspiracies…"

"Maybe it's just a coincidence, did you ever consider that?"

He mumbled under his breath, meaning for her to hear. "There's no such thing as coincidence…"

"Cambridge?"

"Yeah…Mulder, what is it?"

          Her partner had gone oddly silent, piecing together information in his head that most people would consider unrelated.

          "We need to go to the University of Cambridge."

---------------------------------

Sorry if my descriptions of the Greenwich observatory are a little off, I didn't make an overwhelming effort to remember the order in which the museum and the gift shop was arranged. =p  Sorry it took so long for this installment, hehe. I need to start the next one, too.


	4. Accidents and Intentions

**Note: **Fine, Jamie, fine. Just for you, I'll make this chapter at least 1500 words. ;P It was going to be at least 1500 anyway, but, psh. Whatever. All you dedicated readers (hehe, there's actually five of you!!! ^-^), please don't yell at me! This chapter just had to happen… O:-) And they can have guns if I want them to! So ha!

**Second Note: **There's also some, ah…interesting author's notes toward the end…hehe. I got a little gabby.

**Rivergem****:** Actually, I was only in England for a week, and that was just in London over Thanksgiving break of 2003. But I feel honored to be considered accurate enough to be British! Tee-hee. (If you want to get technical, by blood, I'm 12.5% Brit) The conductor yelling at the two idiots jumping on the train actually happened when I was there; I got the quote as close as I remembered it.__

**Disclaimer: **I disclaim ownership of the X-Files, London, King's Cross Station, time, AM/PM abbreviations, dates, mathematical equations, the English Language etc. etc. etc. but NOT my plot. So ha.

**Archive: **It'd be an honor. Truly. *emotional* Just contact me and I'll most likely give you permission.

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September 21, 2003

King's Cross Station 

9:30 AM

          Mulder hopped from one foot to the other, eager to be off. They were at the King's Cross station, waiting for their connection to get to onto the Northern Line so that they could get back to their hotel, pack, and be off to Cambridge. Scully was giving him odd looks from the corner of her eye. Several people were staring.

          "Come on, Scully, aren't you excited? The weather is a beautiful four degrees Celsius, we're in London, it's rainy, and we might be able to find a way to – "

          Scully cut him off with a glance.

          "We're in _public_, Mulder, in a foreign country. We don't need to give people an excuse to lock you up because you're babbling about saving yourself from an alien invasion." She whispered vehemently, and the people who had been staring made no effort to eavesdrop. This was probably just an argument between a newlywed couple on their honeymoon.

          Mulder just grinned before nodding acquiescingly. She was right, after all.

          The train screeched to a halt, but both former agents balked at entering the can of sardines. Rush hour. Joy.

          "Let's wait for the next one, Mulder."

          Another nod.

          Several others made the same decision and within three minutes of the departure twelve others had joined them on their wait at the station.

          "Think we'll see the Weasley twins?"

          Scully stared at him in mock shock. 

          "You actually _read _those?"

          "You must've, too, to understand what I'm saying."

          She gave into to childish urge and stuck her tongue out at him, which he returned in kind. People were staring again.

          There was the sound of running feet and a harried looking local jumped down the last few stairs, shouting at the top of his lungs, apparently with no regard for the four cameras in the station.

          "NOBODY MOVE! I'VE GOT A GUN AND I'M PREPARED TO USE IT!"

          He wasn't bluffing, either. A 12mm was positioned rather dangerously in his hand.

          "I want all of you to give me your wallets. NOW!" He shouted, when no one was obeying. Several people shuffled in their pockets for their money. Their lives were worth more than their cash.

          A train roared past, the passengers and conductor oblivious to the scene.

          Mulder used the distraction to pull his own gun out of its ankle holster.

          Scully jabbed him in the ribs before anyone could see.

          "What are you gonna say, 'I'm an ex-Federal Agent with the Bureau of Investigation in the states and I want you to drop your weapon?'" she hissed.

          "We have to do something, Scully, besides, self-defense."

          "But then people will question your motives for carrying a gun in the first place!"

          Mulder ignored her, bringing the gun back into sight.

          "Put the gun down," he spoke slowly, his voice commanding.

          The people who had been staring before found renewed interest in the American.

          He could hear Scully groaning beside him.

          The man was clearly delusional (though Mulder wasn't much better), and paid no heed to the American tourist. Newlyweds could be so annoying.

          He crossed over to the locals and began taking their proffered money.

          "Mulder, just put the gun down. This isn't worth a few lousy dollars."

          He hesitated, then slowly lowered his gun. That is, of course, until the man pushed Scully into the trench where the train had just sped past. He took his gun and put it to her head, glaring at Mulder.

          "You! Yeah, you, the American! Put down the gun!"

          "You let her go!"

          Scully groaned. Again.

          Mulder was beginning to hear the too familiar sound of an approaching train. And it didn't sound like it was stopping.

          "Shit…" he mumbled, lowering his gun.

          "Toss me the gun!" the lunatic demanded.

          "What?!"

          "TOSS ME THE GUN!"

          The man cocked his own 12mm. The point was not lost on Mulder.

          Gritting his teeth, he began to take out the clip.

          "LEAVE IN THE CLIP!"

          "There's a train coming, you have about ten seconds to get off the tracks! Is it that important for me to take out the clip?!"

          "JUST DO IT!" Mulder left in the clip, put the gun on safety, and tossed it to the man, who deftly caught it with two fingers.

          He could just see the light coming around the corner.

          Scully was released and the man scrambled out of the trench.

          "SCULLY!"

          He took a step toward her, not knowing what he would do, and after a loud crack found a bullet firmly lodged in his foot. Losing his balance, he fell to the floor, gasping not from the pain in his foot but from the fact that Scully was under that train.

-----Scully POV------ [a/n: Aren't you glad I didn't leave you with a cliffhanger?]

          I saw the train speeding toward me at over a hundred kilometers an hour, immobilized not by the arm holding me in a headlock so much as the "deer in headlights" effect. I could only stare, mesmerized, as the light grew closer and closer, threatening to swallow the world in its ghostly sheen. Then the arm was gone, and I could breathe, and some instinctive part of my mind forced my body onto the ground, landing just as the train passed.

          The great stomach of the engine flew past above me, millimeters from my body. To either side, the wheels sped by on track of steel. I couldn't put my hands over my ears without having a whole lot of skin or maybe even a limb sacrificed to the beast; If I had screamed I'd have not been able to hear myself over the roar of the machine. That theory was tested when my leg strayed too close to the rail and the fabric of my pants and a great deal of flesh were ripped from their places, and I pulled my leg back before I lost my foot. Barely.

          It was an eternity of fear, my leg afire with pain so hot that before I could pass out it went numb. _It's so hot it feels cold. _Then it was past, rumbling on to whatever station it was destined to, leaving behind a platform of gawking humans. 

-----End Scully POV-----

          "DANA!"

          Friendly locals rushed over to get the female off the tracks, amazed that she had survived. It seemed that being petite had its advantages. Scully drew her breath in long, ragged gasps, her entire form shaking from shock. Not to mention her leg injury. Someone had already alerted the hospital and before she could so much as form a word she was taken away on the stretcher, thoughts scattered, then drifted into welcome unconsciousness.

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November 6, 2003

Public Bus en route to Jurys Inn London

14:00

          "Ah, it feels good to finally be out of that hospital, eh, Scully?"

          For once she agreed with him.

          "So…are we still going to Cambridge?" She raised an eyebrow at her former partner in question.

          "I don't know, Scully…Maybe we got the wrong clue. Maybe there never _was _any clue."

          The spoke quietly, not wanting to draw attention to their interesting topic of conversation.

          A group of babbling teenagers – foreigners - was making no effort at courtesy.

          "I went to Canary Wharf yesterday, at that new mall that's opened up?"

          "Oh, the larney one?"

          "Ya, and they had the coolest stuff. And there was this one store with this guy who was _so _cute. He had these…"

          Mulder stopped listening and returned to the colloquy at hand.

          "Ever heard of Canary Wharf, Scully?"

          "Isn't that the strip along the River Thames*? They have all the old warehouses that have been converted into hotels and condos."

          "Yeah, it also used to be an old dock where they unloaded cargo from ships. A wharf. It's near another harbor that's quite interesting. If they caught pirates, they'd tie them to the bank and wait for high tide to come in three times before disposing of the body."

          "Lovely."

          Mulder raised his eyebrows. "London terminology _and _the accent? Scully, I'm so proud of you."

          "Oo, do I get a prize?"

          "I can think of a few things…" He let the sentence hang, and she noticed with a surge of mixed emotions that he wasn't entirely joking.

          They spent the rest of the ride in silence.

----------Aww, but I wanna end it there!! Stupid goals. You always have to live up to them. ^.~--------------

          Tossing the last of her clothes into their suitcase – yes, _their_ suitcase [a/n: Hey, it saves trouble. How'd you like to be lugging three bags across the length and breadth of England? Yeah! That's what I thought!] – Scully turned to Mulder, who was feeling under the bed.

          "Mulder, what are you doing?"

          He pulled his gun out from under the bed, made sure the safety was on, and slipped it into his ankle holster.

          "That."

          "You still haven't told me where we're going."

          "That because I _don't _know."

          "Then what are we doing? Where are we going?"

          "How would you react to wandering aimlessly around England?"

          "Not very well, especially if you had ulterior motives."

          "Such as?" He had a sly half grin on his face which made him look a lot like his name.

          "Oh, I can think of a few things…" She countered, zipping the suitcase.

          "Oh really?" He got an odd look on his face, one eye squinted partially closed and an eyebrow quirked. "Are you thinkin'…what I'm thinkin'…?"

          She completed the cliché. "I don't know…what are you thinkin'?"

          "I think you're thinkin' that I'm spooky."

          "I never did answer that question, did I?"

          "No, actually, we were interrupted by Agent Colton."

          "Mulder, that was ten years ago."

          He tapped his head meaningfully.

          She nodded before speaking. "You're not spooky, Mulder."

          "Really?" The question was spoken more like a confirmation.

          She sensed they were venturing into waters she hadn't yet swum.

          _Oo__, you thought 'yet', Dana, you thought 'yet'…_

_          What's your point?_

_          I think you know my point._

_          Shut up._

_          Sure. Fine. Whatever._

She brought her thoughts back to where she wanted them.

"Really."

          He glanced at his feet before taking her hand.

          "Thanks, Dana…"

----------------------------------------------

          Hehe…she was Dana twice in this chapter…It's fun to tie up loose ends from episodes. *creepy hand gestures* SQUEEZE ROCKS! In fact, here's a nifty quote from it! EEP!

          **SCULLY: It seems like you were acting very territorial, I don't know, forget it. **

**(Scully goes to turn away but Mulder stops her, he is touching Scully's necklace) **

**MULDER: Of course I was, in our investigations, you may not always agree with me but at least you respect the journey. And if you wanna continue working with them, I won't hold it against ye.**

Footnote

*Pronounced Tĕms, on syllable.

So what'd you think of the chap? R&R, s'il vous plaît!!


	5. London Rain

**Notes: **Hmm, I'm thinking maybe two or three more chapters. I already have the first part of the last chapter written...Oh, the times are in Military from now on…so yeah…anyway. This chapter might have a bit more MSR than the others, I mean, all things considered, it is the most logical thing…I just write what I think the characters should do next, so…*shrugs*

**Rinkufan****: **Oh, I just love having my goals set for me. Naturally, of course, you're right, I need to make my chapters longer. =P

**Chapter: **Five – London Rain

**Disclaimer: **Don't own London, anything in London, the X-Files, they belong to Chris Carter, Fox, 1013 productions, etc. etc.

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November 7, 2003

London Eye

11:00

            Considering it was a Sunday, the immense Ferris wheel overlooking the Thames was surprisingly empty. Well, relatively. There were, of course, the tourists, who never left, and the few locals who were actually in the London Eye for some obscure reason, but all things considered, it was fairly deserted. Only four people to a car. That's deserted.

            The London Eye is an immense Ferris wheel which overlooks the River Thames. It's not your ordinary Ferris wheel, either, with the rockable open cars, no, this is a glass windowed, full scale, can hold twenty people and has a bench in the middle of each capsule Ferris wheel. 

            Little did our favorite agents know, this would be a most interesting thirty minute ride…

----------------------------------------------------------

            "Mulder, shouldn't we be doing something useful?"

            "Aw, come on, Scully, you only live once. Well, you only live this life once in the same awareness and in the same occupation and with the same people, but my point remains the same."

            "Are you ill? Has the weather gotten to you?"

            He laughed, handing her one of the tickets.

            They zigzagged up the ramp and handed their tickets to a jovial brunette who replied with, "Cheers."

            "Cheers." The reply, surprisingly enough, came from Scully.

            "Ooh, taking a walk on the wild side, eh, Scully? Picking up on the local lingo."

            Scully outwardly gave an exasperated smile and inwardly snorted.

            Stepping into one of the thirty two ever-rotating capsules, the pair took in their surroundings. There were three others in the pod, one elderly gentlemen and a red-haired lady who appeared to be his daughter, and a bedraggled young man with a camera the size (though not the shape) of a watermelon.

            Scully crossed to the opposite end of the oval, eyes wide. From above…She was so engrossed by the view that she was only vaguely aware of a hand on the small of her back until an arm wrapped itself around her waist, Mulder looking out at London with his head resting on her shoulder.

            "So this is why you wanted to come up here…"

            The man with the camera snapped a few shots of the couple standing near the window.  

            "I just thought you'd appreciate the view."

            "Uh huh…"

            She turned her gaze back to the city, which she was just now starting to see fully.

            A shaft of sunlight had managed to break through the perpetual grey, sending thousands of diamonds sparkling on the River Thames below. Westminster Abbey and the world-renowned clock which held Big Ben stood at a perfect angle below them, and the chap with the camera began taking pictures, in all directions, in earnest. Double-decker buses and a few cars sped past on the bridge below, and several small ships drifted lazily along the river.

            Scully walked to the other sides, Mulder following at a slower pace, Scully absorbing the sights in her mind, hoping that she wouldn't forget a single detail. Mulder didn't have to take the extra time but he did anyway, savoring what he could see here and now without having to rely on his memory. They both ended up where they'd started.

            "Why do we do it, Scully?"

            "Do what?"

            "Strive to achieve greatness by building immense creations with architecture that can only boggle the mind, continue to construct and dominate over everything. Why did we craft this?" He gestured to the city, now far, far, below them. Fifteen minutes in, and they were nearly at the apex of the ride. "Why…why do we try to become more than we are?"

            "Because we want to make our mark on civilization, do something beneficial to mankind? Because we can't stand to live a meaningless existence? Because we have no one to live for so we create some_thing_ to live for?"

            "Maybe we just want to be remembered. I mean, when we die…who remembers us for who we are? We're only remembered for what we did in life, what we 'accomplished'.  Most people don't have anyone to remember them for who they are, and even so, they're only remembered until that person passes on."

            "So we build and create things so that people will remember us, even if not for who we are, but for what we accomplished, because that is better than total anonymity." Scully said it as a statement, wondering where exactly this conversation was going.

            "Except that now it doesn't matter anymore." The words were spoken softly, and she knew that he was referring to the coming invasion.

            "Come on, you can't think like that, Mulder. You have to live for the moment. Even without the invasion you never know how long you're going to have."

            Then she found herself in his embrace, their faces less than a centimeter apart.

            More pictures were snapped.

            "Live for the moment," Mulder whispered.

            "Mulder, we're in public…"

            "Five people hardly constitute public," he countered, but released her anyway, eyes questioning.

            _Well, Dana? _

_            "Well" what?_

_            Answer the question!_

_            But-_

_            But what?_

_            Shut up._

_            Dana, you can't just leave him hanging like that! You've been at a standstill for years! BAM! Kick it up a notch!_

_            I never watch Emeril._

_            You're getting off topic._

_            So?_

_            ANSWER HIM! What have you got to lose?_

_            Everything!_

_            Oh, so he means everything to you, eh, Scully?_

_            Shut up._

_            See!_

_            But what if-_

_            BASEBALL! TOUCHSTONE! ONE IN FIVE BILLION! Is this ringing any bells? You have nothing to lose and everything to gain!_

_            But-_

_            You've hurt him enough! You left him to wake up _alone _in your_ bed!

And that thought was enough to spur her on. She didn't know what she was going to say, or what she was going to do, but she was going to say/do _something._

So she just stopped thinking and did the first thing that came to mind. That first thing which came to mind was to pull Mulder back to her and kiss him, full on the lips, much to the delight of the young photographer. He managed to snap a total of twenty pictures, at different angles, before the two broke apart – barely.

            Gasping, Mulder managed a word. "Hypocrite…"

            They had started their descent and were now overlooking an equally breathtaking section of the city, stretching on for miles. Scully found herself drawn to the window, and her partner felt compelled to follow her. 

            "Scully…"

            Her back remained turned to him, the petite figure gazing out at the city.

            "Dana, I think I'm starting to figure it out."

            She spun to face him, eyes inquisitive, arms crossed. A small smile played across her lips – from amusement or from the kiss?

            "What if…what if we're not here to find out something about others…but to find out about ourselves?"

            Scully opened her mouth to say something, but Mulder continued. "Just hear me out, Scully. What if, in the coming…years…we need to know something, and being plunked in a completely different environment acts as a…a catalyst. Maybe that's why it took us so long to find the truth. Because we need to be able to know ourselves inside out so completely that there's no doubt about whom you are."

            "But why would you need to know that? I mean, don't we already?"

            "I don't know, yet, I'm still working this out…but think about it."

            They were silent for a time, eventually departing the ride and strolling down the path, past the modern Café A and the ancient aquarium. Scully somehow found their fingers laced, despite the weather. It had begun to rain again (big surprise), but they continued walking nowhere in particular, enjoying the silent companionship, both thinking about what Mulder had said.     

*                      *                      *

            Behind them, the man who had been taking pictures on the Ferris wheel sorted through the memory card – digital cameras were so useful, nowadays. Glancing up, he saw that the couple had nearly passed out of his sight, descending into one of the train stations. He bustled to catch up, somehow earning no more than a passing glance from the locals – he was just another tourist, albeit one with a large camera. 

            One of the downsides of the underground was that, if you were trying to follow someone, you generally had to get in the same car, and the same person on the train with you for most of the day was bound to look suspicious. So the man hung back, always getting in the same car yet constantly maintaining a safe distance from the two. He had a job to do, and he wasn't going to fail.

--------------------------

Somewhere in London

Room 17

21:30                                                               

            They arrived back at their hotel – a small one that Scully didn't even think had a proper name – and entered their room, dropping any acts at normality. They had checked in as Mr. and Mrs. Rob Petri, much to Mulder's delight at watching Scully bite her tongue to keep from snapping at him when they'd booked the room. Now, Mulder slumped in one of the chairs, Scully sprawling on the bed.

            "My feet are killing me…" she kicked off the sneakers, watching one land near the door and another near Mulder's feet.

            "Did you get the impression that we were being followed?"

            "Oh, so it wasn't just me. Nice to know my partner's paranoia hasn't completely rubbed off on me."

            "We're not partners anymore, Scully."

            "Maybe not officially -" she sat up and stretched her arms above her head, yawning, "But that's not the point. Why would anyone be following us around London?"

            "Maybe they heard us talking on the London Eye – maybe someone else here knows about the alien invasion. Maybe they want to know how to stop it, or save themselves."

            "But we don't even know that, Mulder, and besides, what are the odds that someone here knows anything about the colonization?"

            "Improbable, but not impossible." He grinned, managing to coax a small smile from his wearied partner, who flopped back on the bed.

            "Well, there's not much we can do about someone following us, Mulder." Her eyes were drifting closed, and her breathing was deepening.

            He was quiet for a while, and when he finally broke the silence it was softly, in case she'd fallen asleep.

            "I think we should check out some of the old buildings, maybe see the crown jewels, Canary Wharf."

            "Maybe…" she murmured softly, snuggling against the blankets.

            Mulder rose and pulled them out, half-helping Scully to get beneath them. Despite her fatigue, she clasped his wrist and pulled him back when he started to leave. How she did it with her eyes closed he could only guess. "You should get some rest, Mulder…"

            He sighed, gently prying her fingers off his wrist. "I can't, I need to think…"

            "How long have you been awake?"

            He shifted from one foot to the other, hoping she'd drift off to sleep so he wouldn't have to answer.

            "Well?" if possible, her voice was softer, a whisper on the wind. That didn't stop exasperation from coloring it.

            "One or two days…"

            She sighed, snuggling deeper. "Promise you'll get some sleep, Mulder."

            He smiled, flopping into the chair.

            "I promise."

                                                                        *                      *                      *

            Damn those ex-FBI agents – they'd actually shut the blinds! Who knew what they were doing in there! They could be plotting secretly, or uncovering ways to save themselves from the upcoming invasion! And where was he? Outside, in a bush, his camera poised precariously on his knee as he rubbed his arms to generate warmth. _Or they could be picking up where they left off on the London Eye…_ He shuddered at the thought. 

            Well, there wasn't much he could do but wait. It's not like there was anywhere comfortable to hide, though he had a niggling suspicion that he'd be waiting for them to come out for a long while. Sighing, he made himself as comfortable as possible, cradling his camera in his lap.

                                                                        *                      *                      *

            Well, Scully had been right, and Mulder had been forced to take up residence in the bed for a few hours after his brain started short-circuiting. Even he could only stay awake for so long, especially at his high rate of activity. He'd considered sleeping in the chair, seeing as this room didn't even have a couch – what did you expect for thirty pounds? – but rather decided to curl up next to Scully. Well, around Scully might be more accurate. He was careful not to wake her, wrapping his arms around her slim figure and nestling his head in her hair. Within minutes, he was asleep.

                                                                        *                      *                      *

            He slapped at a mosquito irritably, cursing the weather. Even when it was this cold, the pests _still _lived on to plague him. Most people here rarely encountered mosquitoes, but he was a magnet, attracting them to areas that were otherwise inhospitable. _Who the hell did I piss off to get stuck with this?_

Well, it's not like it was very important. The fact was, he was _still _stuck with it, and unless he got something useful by 12:00 tomorrow he'd be a hell of a lot deeper in horse shit than he already was. All he had now were relatively ordinary photographs of the pair, who seemed to be wandering around London aimlessly. That and their rather useless conversation recorded word for word in his brain. Well, there was that scene in the London Eye, and that could be worked to his advantage, but not if he couldn't figure out where they were going. He'd even bugged their room, but they hadn't even said anything useful in the few hours it'd lasted before it had mysteriously stopped working. _Damn agents…ex-agents…same thing._

*                      *                      *

            He felt her stir sometime around seven, but she soon settled back into the bed – and his arms, though he wasn't sure if she was aware of it – and dozed off again. He, on the other hand, couldn't fall back to sleep and so contented himself with thinking. About aliens, about global conspiracies, about how Scully tied into all this, about the man with the camera…_About the London Eye…_

Well, though it had answered his questions, he sensed that they seriously needed to talk about it before either of them truly understood where this was going. And what "this" was.

            _How far does she want to go?_

_            Remember that night…_

_            But she left before I woke up._

_            You're the only one she can trust._

_            Of course she can trust me._

_            But you're the _only one _she can trust._

_            What if it's just a fling? What if she doesn't want to commit?_

_            Mentally she's been committed for years, and if you mean by physically…well…there was yesterday. And that time-_

_            Okay, okay, I get the point._

_            So…_

_            So what?_

_            Talk to her about it._

He squeezed her gently, almost possessively, and felt her stir. He half expected her to go back to sleep again, but this time she mumbled something.

            "Hmm?" 

            "I asked if you were awake."

            "Well, I am."

            She rolled over to face him and grinned. "I noticed."

            He hesitated before broaching the subject. "Scully, about yesterday…"

            Her face remained blank, waiting for him to continue.

            _Just ask her._

He tried to speak but the words caught in his throat, becoming increasingly incoherent until even he couldn't piece together what he wanted to say. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

            "If you're gonna go, go all the way."

            Now it was Mulder's turn to stare blankly.

            Scully sighed – there'd been a lot of that going on lately.

            "How did you know…?"

            "I've known you for years, Mulder, sometimes I can understand you better than you can."

            Those words caught in his mind, seeds, slowly growing, forming into a thought, a revelation, the answer that they'd come to seek.

            "That's it, Scully."

            Her brow furrowed. "What's it?"

            He jumped off the bed and began pacing around the room, piecing the bits and fragments of information in his mind together, thinking aloud.

            "You know me better than I know myself. What if that's it, Scully? We need someone to…to remember us. We need someone…to be an anchor. Someone to help_ us_ remember who we are."

            "But if you already know who you are, and according to what you're saying you have to, why do you need someone else who knows? And how would that help?"

            Despite the oddness of the statement, they both understood it.

            "I…I don't know. But the answer isn't just out there," he spoke excitedly, gesturing outside to the city which surrounded them, "but in here." This time he tapped his head meaningfully. He sat back down on the bed, his eyes flashing with fervor. "You have to know me, and I have to know you, so completely that it's like we're one person."

            "But why?"

            "I think we need to explore London a bit more, Scully."

            She grinned, his euphoria contagious.

            "I think we do."

---------------------------------------------------

 Woo! That was what…2823 words? I didn't expect it to last that long! And I'm not sure where all that MSR came from, either…I also didn't initially mean to have that spy, either…but it all works out so well…Muahaha…so here's the plot I promised you! I have it all planned out…well, not really, but I know what's going to happen at the end, and how the whole anchor thing works! I still need to figure out how they end up in Canary Wharf…hmm… R&R please!!!!!!!


	6. Footprints in the Snow

**Notes: **This is my second attempt at chapter six, which is why it took so long to get up. I dug myself in a hole and the fic was going nowhere except downhill, plus it was too MSR-y and there was virtually no plot! I now you have all of the rest of the story planned out and most of the last chapter written. If you want, I'll post what I had of the original chapter after I finish the fic. I also fixed the last chapter, it said September instead of November…

-------------------------------------

Obscure Hotel somewhere in London

November 8, 2003

2:25

          The call came in the heart of night.

          The two had been sleeping, keeping well to their sides of the bed, when the hotel room phone startled them both out of an already unrestful sleep. Mulder snatched the phone off of the side desk and answered groggily.

          "The Arctic Ice Core Project has been reopened."

          "Who is this?" The voice was an interesting mix of a baritone with a slight vibration, a tendency to end words with a higher pitch, making every remark sound like a question.

          "Someone who wants the same thing you do."

          "And what would that be?"

          "Mr. Mulder, I don't believe you're in a position to be asking the questions."

          The ex-agent was about to respond to that but found it futile seeing as the man had already hung up.

          "Who was it, Mulder?" Scully asked, leaning on one hand, eyes half closed.

          Mulder spared her a smile before answering.

          "It would appear someone wants us to leave England."

-----------------------------------

NOVEMBER 10, 2003

11:35 UST

ICY CAPE, ALASKA

250 MILES NORTH OF THE ARCTIC CIRCLE

          Scully trudged through the snow, resisting the ever growing urge to snap at her partner. It had taken them two days to arrive at their destination, one that she was none too keen to reach. She'd have rather been back in D.C., enjoying a nice hot bath with a cup of coco…Ah, coco…that sounded so good right now. She continued to entertain the thought until she walked into her partner, who had come to an abrupt stop in the middle of the snow. In the distance she could make out the charred remains of the AICP building. Well, remains might be a bit of an overstatement.

          "What is it?"

          "Something's out there, Scully…."

          She paused, listening, numb ears attentive, eyes alert. Their breathing came in puffs as white as the snow, and she tried to mute it as much as possible. 

          She was about to speak again when she heard it, a soft crunch. She cast her eyes about, searching the vast openness for any sign of a creature. Nothing.

          "You're right…" Her voice was a mere whisper, her attention still on her surroundings. Her continued vigil was rewarded with a second crunch, this one definitely closer. She glanced right, in the direction of the sound, but could discern nothing. Only white.

          "The abominable snowman?" 

          She repressed the urge to elbow him in the ribs (not that he'd feel it through all the layers of clothing) and settled for a glare before taking a tentative step to her right. She heard Mulder following her as silently as possible, both of them scouting for the source of the noise. About ten yards off, Scully spotted what appeared to be footprints. Large, torso-size footprints. And not Scully's torso, more like Skinner's.

          She indicated them with a pointed finger and Mulder nodded, taking another step toward them.

          Another footprint appeared.

          "Mulder…" the name was spoken in warning and Scully began to backtrack. Mulder had little choice but to do the same.

          Two more footprints appeared.

          Scully turned and ran just before the pure tone sluiced the arctic air, piercing at their skulls, fluctuating as if searching for the perfect note.

          She heard Mulder gasp and stumbled, turning to pull him up out of the snow, their ears covered in some vain, instinctive attempt to block out the noise while they ran toward the ruins in an attempt to outrun it as futile as the attempt to not hear it.

          "Scully, what is this?!" His words were roared above the din which had now decided to fall steadily in pitch, the frequency of the sound waves decreasing.

          "I don't know, I've never heard anything like it! It, it could have anything to do with resonant frequencies, why else would there be a pure tone? They rarely occur in nature!" Her rambling was more to try and block out the sound than to actually communicate anything. Regardless, Mulder shouted back, putting on an extra burst of speed.

          "I doubt this is anything nature created, Scully!"

          The female ex-agent turned to look behind her, unsurprised to find lumbering footprints slowly pursue them. She turned back around, abandoning any attempt at blocking out the noise and using her arms to put on any extra speed she could. She could feel her skull vibrating as the pitch fell steadily, then suddenly vanished, now sounding either not at all or below 20 Hz. Considering the vibrations continued in her head, she was inclined to go with the latter assumption.

          "Scully, doesn't everything give off a resonant frequency? And…and if you match them, then whatever is being matched is destroyed, that's why glass breaks when a high enough note is produced!"

          "What's your point?" she panted between breaths she'd rather have conserved entirely for running.

          "What if something is trying to match the resonant frequency of our skulls, or our heads? Our bodies produce a frequency lower than we can hear!"

          "Or our brains!"

          The pain slicing through her head was now almost too much to bear and she found her vision fading in and out, not from exhaustion or overheating but from the pure tone she could no longer hear yet knew was still being sung. If you could call something's death attack a song.

          Mulder passed her, his long legs finally catching up despite her head start and his desire to stay with the only other person within a few hundred miles. Safety in numbers was not a viable application to the current situation, but that didn't mean he was going to leave her, either.

          _Not that I'd ever leave her._

Despite the pain slicing his mind, the thought still managed to make its presence known. Then the frequency increased again and he was on his knees, agony building in his brain until he was sure it would explode. It would have, too, if the note hadn't suddenly stopped, leaving him in a stunned state of what Scully might have diagnosed as post-traumatic shock. Unlike post-traumatic shock, however, he soon recovered and raised himself up off the ground, calling out weakly.

          "Scully?"

          Silence reigned across the frigid plain.

          "Scully?"

          Finally managing to lever himself up, he looked around him, found himself the only person in sight. He traced their footprints, finding the smaller set terminated abruptly twenty feet from where he was slumped.

          "SCULLY!!!!!!!!!"

*                 *                 *

          "Has the woman been obtained?" A puff of smoke emerged from the corner of the room, and the scruffy haired man shifted nervously from one foot to the other. He knew it was never a good idea to demonstrate weakness in front of his superiors, especially in his line of work, but the news he had just delivered ought to compensate for any less desirable behaviors.

          "Yes, sir. She is being taken to the location you specified as we speak."

          "And she has not been harmed?" The man stepped from the shadows, his eyes piercing into the photographer's.

          "No, sir, nothing permanent, as you requested."

          The government man crossed to his desk, crushing his cigarette in the crystalline ashtray.

"And Mulder?"

          The man shuffled his feet anxiously before answering.

"He has nothing to go on, no leads. It will take him two days just to get back to London, if he even goes there."

          "Then everything is going according to plan."

          He suppressed a sigh of relief at the tone, bland and, in its own way, pleased.

          "Yes, sir. All according to plan."

                                                          *                 *                 *

          Mulder slouched into his seat, the pilot rambling off flight instructions to the passengers. The ex-agent hadn't gotten any sleep in the past thirty-six hours and wasn't likely to in the next thirty-six either. He rested his head against the window, fighting back the depression that had been building inside of him ever since Scully's disappearance. He had nothing to go on, no idea where to even begin searching, could only file a missing person's report and hope for the best. Of course, being Mulder, he wasn't going to just give up. He was flying back to the states to tell Scully's family about her abduction – there really was no other word for it – and then was going to try and get back in touch with some old contacts who might not even be alive anymore.

          "Estimated time of arrival is 7:37 PM Eastern Standard Time on November 12. If you require any assistance, there is a button located…"

          Mulder tuned out the pilot again and reclined his chair, eyes closed but seeing only footprints in the snow.

-------------------End Ch.6--------------------

Don't worry, I've already started writing the second chap, considering this one is so short. ^.^ I just had to end it here, though, it's such a good cliffhanger…Please R&R!!!


	7. The Plot Thickens MUAHAHAHAHA

**Notes: **Yeah, I had a sudden lack of writing inspiration. =P Sorry it took so long to get up, but hopefully it was worth the wait.

---------------------Chapter Seven - -----------------------------

NOVEMBER 12, 2003

22:34

SCULLY RESIDENCE

          Mulder hesitated for a moment before ringing the doorbell, unsure how to phrase the news. He could have called ahead, but he'd wanted to inform her mother in person – it was the least he could do. Besides, she might be able to help him figure out where Scully had been taken.

          Mrs. Scully answered the door and gave a slight start. Well, considering he hadn't bothered to shave and had only bathed once in the past two and a half days, he was bound to look…interesting.

          "Fox, what are you doing here? And at 10:30…Is Dana all right?"

          Something on his expression must have clued her in to the reasons for his visit because a few seconds later she mumbled something that sounded like "Oh God…" which was abruptly followed by "Come in, come in."

           She shut the door after him and he walked to the living room where he decided to forgo sitting, though Mrs. Scully sank to the couch.

          "What happened to Dana?" She spoke, eyes wide with fear, fingers nervously fluttering in her lap like a broken-winged bird.

          "I – We were investigating a lead…I'd asked her to come to England, to find something, but then somebody called…and we went to the arctic, and some_thing _attacked us, and while I was incapacitated she was…taken."

          "By whom?"

          He was silent for a moment, eyes haunted, seeing the footprints, only the footprints, when pair going, one pair stopped, dead, ended.

          The phone gave a shrill ring and both the adults started. It rang twice before Mrs. Scully got up to answer it, coming back in the room a minute later, a look of confusion on her face.

          "It's…for you."

          Mulder, equally puzzled, took the phone, speaking into it.

          "Hello?"

          A familiar voice came on at the other end of the line, one that was always questioning.

          "I have information about your partner."

          "What are you talking about? Who are you?"

          "It's not important who I am. Now if you want to find your partner, listen to me." He paused, as if expecting Mulder to interrupt. When he didn't, the man continued. "Mrs. Scully received a package in the mail today containing a computer disk. Get it, and load it. You'll find your answers there."

          Before Mulder could formulate a response, the line went dead. He handed the phone back to Mrs. Scully, speaking slowly. "Did you receive a package in the mail today containing a computer disk?"

          She frowned and nodded, going off into another room and returning with an unlabeled compact disc in a clear, nondescript case.

          "I tried to load it but it asked me for a password. How did you know I had it?"

          "Could I borrow it, please?"

          She handed him the disc and he thanked her, making his way to the door.

          "Wait, Fox, why don't you stay here a while? Get some rest, at least, you look like you haven't slept in days."

          He gave her a wry smile before opening the door.

          "I haven't!"

          Stopping at a local internet café – deserted at this time of night except for the nerds unfortunate enough to have been busted and now took every precaution available – Mulder popped in the disc, hoping that it wouldn't crash the machine. After several seconds of intense whirring, an alert box popped up, asking for a password. Thirty minutes and several hundred passwords later, the box was replaced by a file folder, which opened, revealing a long, scrolling page of binary which took the better part of ten minutes to fully load. Suppressing the urge to smack the computer, he studied the program it was running in, and after twenty minutes of not-too-careful fiddling managed to translate the binary. What was revealed was a picture, in full color, unlike most spy shots.

          Mulder's eyes widened as the image loaded, his brain taking in the surroundings in the picture, and oddly enough he recognized it. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, he printed the photograph and ejected the disc, slipping both into his pocket before leaving.

          Scully suppressed a groan, eyes closed while she tried to take in her surroundings by feel. She was lying on her side on what felt like wood, and from the chaffing of her wrists as well as her inability to move either it didn't take much thought to figure out she was bound. It took her several attempts to sit up, her head spinning, and she slowly opened her eyes to a dizzying blur of grey. She waited several seconds until they adjusted to the dim light and whatever she had been drugged with wore off.

          She guessed the room was once used for storage, seeing as how the ceiling was rounded high with great windows – now covered by plywood – on the far end. No boxes occupied the room, in fact, nothing did, just her in her little corner. She was unsurprised to find her weapon gone, and out of recent habit she pulled up the bottom of her pants, and stifled a gasp of surprise.

          As of late she had taken to Mulder's habit of keeping a gun in an ankle holster, and she now found herself not as weaponless as she had initially suspected.

          _This seems too easy…These people don't make mistakes._

_          Well, maybe they do._

_          Or maybe they intend for me to escape…_

_          But why?_

_          To lead them to Mulder?_

_          They could have taken him just as easily as they took me. Besides, I have no idea where he is._

_          What if they took the wrong person?_

_          What are the odds? How could someone mistake me for a six foot, brown-haired _male _ex-FBI agent?_

Well, regardless of how she had gotten here, or why she was here, she was still here all the same. And she had no intention of staying that way for long.

                                                     

          Mr. McCain came out from the back room, popping his head in to see if anyone had left. Not many people were here this time of night, just the regulars. And that one guy who'd just come in, he thought he's heard him leave a few minutes ago but had been tied up in a…conversation…with a dissatisfied customer from a few weeks ago.

He glanced around the room, noting familiar facing, and sadly enough, familiar clothing. Bill, Jimmy, Harry, Joe…his eyes slid across the recently vacated seat. But where was the new guy? He'd only paid for half and hour upfront, and he'd been there at least an hour, plus he'd used the printer – that was another five bucks, considering how low the ink cartridge was. Mr. McCain glanced across the room to his desk and at the counter where the computer was, spat a curse, and stormed back into his office.

"Flucking cheap asshole…"

Scully threw herself against the door for the tenth time, this time earning the satisfying crack of splintering wood. Her small form wasn't made for this type of activity, but with enough persistence…

She slammed her full weight against the door again, hissing at the pain in her shoulder, then rammed it with her other one. She'd be out of here soon enough…

"Um, sir…if I may ask a question?" Hiding his apprehension as best he could, the man fiddled with the buttons of his camera, opening and snapping shut the battery door, taking pictures of his lens cap, focusing and unfocusing…

The man took a deep puff of his cigarette before putting it out in his crystalline ashtray, no doubt imported from some foreign country. He hadn't even used half of the cigarette – was that a good sign or a bad one?

"If you wish, but bear in mind that insolence can cause most unpleasant consequences."

Swallowing under the intense glare, the man shifted his feet, breaking eye contact. Staring too long could be taken as a sign of rebellion, and he didn't need that right now.

"Why…why are we allowing the prisoner to escape? After all we went through to get her…"

"Do you think I would simply let her go? No…she has served her purpose. Besides, she may be valuable in locating Mulder."

"Sir, did you perform the tests? I thought that - "

"What you _think _is best left unsaid, if you would like to enjoy your current position for much longer."

Swallowing again, the photographer spoke, knowing it would be in his best interest to leave immediately.

"Yes, sir."

Meh. I know it's not very long, or well written, but hope you enjoyed. Please review!!


	8. Deadly Relations

**Title**: He Belongs to Me

**Chapter: **Eight – Deadly Relations

**Summary**: Post-Truth – Mulder claims to have found a way to save anyone who is willing to listen from the upcoming alien invasion – but things do not go according to plan. Light MSR, set mostly in England.

**Note**: I already have most of the last chapter written, because I 3 it, so there is probably going to be only one chapter after this…bring the total up to…nine chapters? Time shall tell – however, I am going on vacation to Canada/Alaska from May 29th-June 12th, so don't expect any updates. Sorry!!

**Disclaimer:** I disclaim ownership of the X-Files, London, King's Cross Station, time, AM/PM abbreviations, dates, mathematical equations, the English Language etc. etc. etc. but NOT my plot. So ha.

**Archive:** It'd be an honor. Truly. emotional Just contact me and I'll most likely give you permission.

----------------------------Commence Ch. 8-----------------------------------------

          Scully stumbled into late afternoon sunlight, squinting her eyes. Her wrists were raw and bloodied, her hair disheveled, but she was out. She fumbled through her pockets out of habit, checking their contents. Her cell phone was gone, not that it'd make any difference – she didn't have GSM and even if she did she hadn't purchased a pay-to-go card upon arriving in London. A shame, really…if she ever got out of here she'd have to seriously consider doing that.

          _Where to now, Dana?_

Well, she supposed she should probably find a way to get in touch with Mulder…not that she had any idea where he was. Knowing him, he was off hunting aliens in some ass-backwards attempt to find her. Which was good, because in his own way, that was how Mulder found anything that he considered important.

          Thinking logically, she should probably try and find a pay phone and see if he answered his cell – at least then she'd know if he were in America or still in England, or anywhere else in the world.

          _He could be in __Hong Kong__ for all I know…he's done it before._

_          Well, Dana, you have to start somewhere._

_          I suppose. And like Tolkein said – "Not all those who wander are lost."_

-----------------------

       "Have you deployed the bounty hunter?" For once, the man standing in the shadows was not in the company of a lighted cigarette. The photographer gulped, wondering what implications that held, before daring to speak. He wasn't likely to come out of this ordeal alive anyway, he might as well know what the hell was going on.

       "Sir, no impudence intended, but why are we sending an alien bounty hunter after a human you allowed to escape?"

       The man removed a cigarette from a box in his shirt pocket, removing also from the pocket a lighter. He flicked it on and off several times, admiring the flame before extinguishing it and then creating another one before killing that, too. Finally, he lit the cigarette, took two deep puffs, and answered. With a question, of course. Never answer anything directly, that was one of the first things you learned if you wanted to survive here.

       "You really don't know what those tests were, do you?" He returned the lighter to his pocket and took the cigarette in hand, examining the burning end with keen interest. Feigned interest.

       "No, sir…I was not – I was never informed as to the nature of them."

       Four puffs of smoke billowed from the shadows.

       "And did it not cross your mind that there was a reason for your lack of information?"

       The man simply swallowed and averted his eyes, waiting for the man to continue. Amazingly enough, he actually received an answer.

       "You should know by now that all humans contain alien DNA that lies dormant inside of them."

       "Yes…yes, sir, I have heard rumors about that tidbit of information." He raised his eyes from the floor, looking at the Cigarette Smoking Man's face but not into his eyes, oh no, never look him in the eyes. Not if you wanted to keep not only your job but your life, and your family's lives.

       "And based on this what do you think the tests were doing?"

       He took another deep puff of his cigarette before taking it in his fingers, twisting it methodically.

       "Um…activating the alien DNA for the purpose…" he paused. What could be the reason? "For the purpose of seeing the reaction the black oil virus would produce in humans when trying to propagate? To see if, maybe if the two were similar enough, somehow it wouldn't be compatible with its host?"

       The man in the shadows stubbed out his cigarette, watching the curls of smoke rise into the dim air of the office. No windows here, oh no, never any windows. People could see you, observe your actions, or even worse, have an opportunity to attack you from a distance.

       "Send the bounty hunter, Mr.Stein."

       "Yes, sir. Immediately."

------------------------

       Mulder stumbled off the plane, running into the person in front of him and mumbling something he hoped was an apology before making his way into the waiting area with the leather chairs. Dropping his bag on the floor, he flopped down in one of them, and despite his firm resolution to make it to the city proper that night, he soon became deeply and soundly asleep.

                                                                          -------------------------

       Scully stopped at a local Costa to use their toilet facilities. She managed to finger-comb her hair so that it looked halfway decent – now she only having a bad hair day rather than having stuck a wire hanger in an electrical socket that morning. Using her hands to scoop up the water she managed to wash her face moderately well and discovered she still had her wallet, buried deep in the recesses of her trench coat. Using what little money remained she purchased a Grande latté before leaving in search of a telephone. She'd try and phone Mulder, and if she couldn't get a hold of him she'd pay the ludicrous long distance fees to call someone in America. She experienced a pang of sadness at the deaths of the Lone Gunmen. Doggett might help her, if she could get a hold of him. Her best bet probably lay with her mother. She would pay the air fare to get her daughter back to America and would have the patience to wait for answers. But before she could do anything, she needed to find a phone.

                                                                          -------------------------

       The photographer snapped a few quick shots of the prone ex-agent before heading off to the airport food court. He didn't get to eat a lot in his line of work, and when he did it was normally a bag of hastily grabbed (and often stolen) potato chips. The opportunity to have a real meal was too tempting to resist, and he looked forward to the tantalizing prospect of sinking his teeth into a slab of fried fish and stuffing his face with French fries, or "chips" as these people called them. A part of his mind idly wondered who the hell would call slabs of fried potato, stripped of any nutritional value, "chips". Well, he supposed they were similar to potato chips – potatoes sliced and boiled in grease until all dietary benefit was gone into a tub of oil.

       Sinking into a chair with his newly acquired food, Mr. Stein set about the process of shoving as much food in as little time as possible into if mouth.

                                                                          ---------------------------

       Mrs. Scully sank into her bath tub, luxuriating in the steaming water and the foamy, white bubbles. There'd been to much going on lately, first her only daughter left going off to England on some wild goose chase to help the man she was too foolish to admit she loved, then finding out that her Dana had been taken by someone for some unknown purpose, probably an uncompassionate one at that. But how had she gotten that disc? And who had known that Mulder would come to her that very same day? According to Dana, all their contacts had been killed over the years and the most recent had never been replaced. So who was sending them information? And what information was being sent? And why?

       Sinking to her ears in the water, Mrs. Scully gladly fell into the blessed oblivion the water presented her, drifting in a peaceful timelessness that lacked any senses except that of touch. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to taste or to smell, just to feel and exist. She never felt the bullet which penetrated her skull to pierce her brain, killing her instantly.

                                                                          ----------------------------

       Well, she'd found one her phone booth, and thankfully it hadn't been far from the Costa. It was the classic red box kind, with the long rectangular windows on the sides and the folding doors. Unfortunately, she didn't have long to enjoy it, because an all too familiar face soon found its way directly to her telephone box. And no, this was no mere coincidence, or someone who bore a striking resemblance to someone she once knew. No, this was _the _face. The face which she'd come to associate the words, "Alien Bounty Hunter". And he was here. In England. She heard the familiar _swft_ as he the deadly point of his weapon slid out, and she managed to stumble out of the box and run ten feet before he began his hot pursuit.

-----------------------End Ch.6------------------------

       So what'd ya think? I rather like this chapter, I wrote it all at once on a sudden inspiration. Besides, my parents were watching 24, so I had nothing better to do. =p Make it last, no updates until June 15th at the earliest!!

Word Count: 1,429


	9. True Colours

**Title:** _He Belongs to Me_

**Chapter:** Nine – True Colours

**Summary:** Post-Truth – Mulder claims to have found a way to save anyone who is willing to listen from the upcoming alien invasion – but things do not go according to plan. Light MSR, set mostly in England.

**Note:** I wrote part of this at a friend's house, and this is probably my second favorite chapter (the best one is the last one). Hehe, you didn't think that photographer was just a character thrown in there, did you? Oh no, he is _very _important to the plot, MUAHAHAHAHA.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the X-Files or any characters in the X-Files. All I own is the plot and Mr. Stein. Muahaha. I love Mr. Stein. .

**Archive:** It'd be an honor. Truly emotional. Just contact me and I'll most likely give you permission.

-------------------------Commence Download: Chapter Nine---------------------------------

LONDON, ENGLAND

NOVEMBER 13, 2003

EVENING

          Scully pounded down the narrow alleys and back streets, lost but knowing she was headed in the right direction. If she were not mistaken, this path would soon take her to the River Thames. Behind her and quickly gaining was the hunter, his steps making only the slightest disturbance while her's were bumbling, unsure. She could almost feel his foreign breath on the back of her neck, oddly calm despite all this running, never increasing in its frequency.

            Rounding another corner she broke into the open, past confused locals and tourists, some with small Japanese cameras staring in awe. Ignoring them, focused only on the river, she put on an extra burst of speed, letting the bystanders do the moving – she didn't have time to be polite. Not like the man following her wasn't enough incentive.

            She reached the rail and kicked off her shoes, dropped her trench coat, and plunged into the frigid waters below.

                                                                 ----------------------2------------------         

            The bounty hunter followed her to the river and watched her vigorous swimming – odd, that she swam in the direction of Canary Wharf. Perchance some hidden instinct told her that her partner was there, or soon would be. In any event, he no longer had any need continue this charade, this meaningless beating around the bush. He had the information he needed, the information his race needed for survival. As of yet the humans had still not discovered a "cure", were too foolish to realize that sometimes to live one had to die. The human woman had failed, the one called Scully, another method unsuccessful. What other reason to kill her? Destroy any evidence that any alien life forms existed. As always, with these pathetic humans.

            But enough of that. Pocketing his weapon, he slid into a form he was more familiar with, though unfortunately it could not be his natural form – how he longed for the supple grace of his elongated fingers, his large, all-seeing black eyes set in a smooth skin of grey…

             Running a hand through his hair and almost wishing for the camera to fill it, Mr. Stein stepped away from the river, meandered down the street. The people here would remember nothing of what they had just seen, as it should be.

Either Scully or her partner had best be informed of the recent death in the family, and best it come from him rather than those who would pervert the truth. The death had been a necessary one – the woman had wanted so badly to survive and had had the means to do it, had been one of the few who had discovered the "cure", even though it had been unknowingly. He had taken her while he could, taken her before they could get to her and corrupt her, taint her, prevent her from going on after death. He had a feeling her daughter would understand that, suspected her daughter might in the future also know the cure – but she was still too rooted in logic and science to accept the possibility, and thus neither she nor her partner could move on as of this time.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he set his steps into their familiar rhythm, steps which would soon lead him home, to the stars, and beyond…

                                                          -----------------------3------------------------

Mulder struggled with his captors, kicking futilely at the one nearest him while his arms remained tied, useless behind his back. The man he had been attempting to kick returned it in kind, except he didn't miss. Mulder's legs were knocked out from under him and he was dragged across the floor of what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse.

How had he gotten here, anyway? The last thing he remembered (shamefully) was falling asleep in the airport, having something waved under his nose when he started to wake, and now ending up here, wherever that might be, held captive. Talk about the hero being shot down in his quest. He nearly snorted at his fantasy but decided it would be in his best interests not to.

His thought process was interrupted when he was thrown to the floor at the far end of the warehouse and the three men surrounding him looked at each other, then at the agent, before proceeding to follow their orders: beat up the agent.

                                                              ----------------------------------4--------------------------

The sun was an artist, painting the sky with red and gold, a faint tinge of purple here and there. The sunsets in England were far from astounding, but they were admirable all the same. It's a shame that Scully had not the opportunity to admire it, as she was currently shivering from hypothermia whilst swimming in the River Thames.

_Where am I going?_

_Back to __Canary__Wharf__.___

_Why?_

**_Because your partner is there._****__**

****

Scully started at the unknown voice inside of her head, one she had never heard before and which was most definitely _not _hers.

_Oh no, I'm going schizophrenic…_

_No you're not._

_Then who was that? Voices don't just pop into your head! It's impossible; it defies everything science has proven – _

_Yeah, just like aliens – _

_Stop arguing with yourself and _move! _That bounty hunter isn't going to wait forever…_

Resuming her strokes, she swam toward Canary Wharf, back to the place she had just escaped.

_Talk about ironic._

                                                          -------------------5---------------------

Walking barefoot and shivering into the building, she withdrew her gun, hoping against hope that the water hadn't damaged it. She examined the magazine and the gun itself and cursed under her breath. If push came to shove, the gun wouldn't work.

_Stupid Dana, stupid stupid stupid, you should know better than to jump in the bloody river with your gun._

She tossed the weapon into a dark corner in exasperation and began pacing, trying to work out some semblance of a plan, mumbling out loud.

"What am I going to do? How am I going to get in there? A bluff won't fool them, no way it would fool them, I need a weapon…I can't get one here, I don't have a license, I'm not even a citizen, what am I going to do?"

She growled in frustration just as a darker shadow detached itself from the corner where she'd thrown her gun, gliding toward her as she stood warily, ramblings ceased.

"Who are you?" she called to the figure.

He walked further into the light cast by one of the abundant street lamps of the city, revealing a familiar face. She narrowed her eyes as the photographer who had been following them came to stand before her, arms held up in a gesture of peace. His camera was nowhere to be found, though she supposed it could be in the depths of his tan trench coat.

"I am afraid that my true form would not be accepted and I have no desire to have my image caught on tape." He gestured to the camera mounted on a building behind them.

"What do you want? Who are you?"

"All I want is to speak to you. And if it will assuage your curiosity…I am…" He held up an arm, in front of his body and therefore out of sight of the camera and slowly shifted it to his natural hand, supple and grey, long fingers curling in bliss at the release.

The woman's mouth moved but no words emerged until finally she shut it and took several deep breaths. Reluctantly, he returned his hand back to that of Mr. Stein's, let it drop to his side.

"What do you want to tell me?" She spoke the question as a statement, no inflection in her voice as she fought to control her thoughts.

"It's about your mother."

"What have you done to my mother?" Ah, now there was inflection.

"She has moved on – it was made to look like a suicide - "

He paused as her eyes began to flame with unconcealed hatred and he took a moment to appreciate the fact that she no longer had a weapon before continuing.

"You must understand, Miss Scully, that she knew the cure. She is in a better place, truly, she will survive the coming invasion."

"How can she survive the invasion if she is no longer alive? And who are you to make that choice? It should be her decision, not anyone else's."

"Please, what's done is done, Miss Scully. But please, you must believe me when I say that she will survive."

He could plainly see the tears she was struggling to hold back, to keep in check. A lone one escaped and he noted it with a twinge of guilt as he pulled from his coat a gun, handing it to her with the barrel pointed at him. She took it and studied it, opening and examining the magazine before turning sorrowful and confused eyes back to him.

"Go – your partner is in there."

She wavered, confusion and curiosity keeping her in place as tears still threatened to spill over.

"Why are you even helping me?"

"They performed experiments on you, awakened your alien DNA – you are now one of my own."

"What…?"

"You will understand when you are ready to understand - but now you have to go."

With those final words he turned back into the shadows, vanishing without a trace. Scully allowed several more tears to slide down her cheeks as she took several moments to grieve, though she knew that the true process would have to come later. Wiping away her tears, she removed the safety on the gun, took a deep breath, and walked barefoot and soaking into the warehouse.

----------------------------------Chapter Nine Complete----------------------

EEP! I love this so much…Don't worry, the tenth chapter should be up today as well! I hope you enjoyed!!

Word Count: 1,564


	10. Open Your Eyes

Title: He Belongs to Me  
  
Chapter: Ten – Open Your Eyes  
  
Summary: Post-Truth – Mulder claims to have found a way to save anyone who is willing to listen from the upcoming alien invasion – but things do not go according to plan. Light MSR, set mostly in England.  
  
Note: I really love this chapter, I think it's my favorite out of the whole fic. Enjoy!   
  
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Files or any characters in the X-Files. All I own is the plot and Mr. Stein.  
  
Archive: It'd be an honor. Truly emotional. Just contact me and I'll most likely give you permission.   
  
---------------------  
  
NOVEMBER 13, 2003 CANARY WARF, LONDON, ENGLAND 1:55 AM  
  
"I will shoot." The words came not from the red-head, but from the man at the foot of her adversary's feet, previously unconscious. He had his own gun to his head, and with a chilling resonance clicked the hammer into place. All it would take now was the pull of a finger, and all the government's plans would come crashing down around them.  
  
The man with the cigarette merely chuckled at the display, and the thug imitated his superior, not wanting to get on the wrong side.  
  
"No you won't. You couldn't do that to the girl." His words were spoken with chilling calmness, as if he didn't care what happened here tonight. He probably didn't.  
  
The thug delivered another kick to the former agent for good measure, who doubled over but didn't relinquish his weapon.  
  
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO TOUCH HIM!"  
  
The word "touch" was emphasized with an earsplitting crack and the thug crumpled to the floor, moaning, a bullet lodged in his stomach.  
  
Now it was Scully's turn to speak calmly, but hers was an intense calm, the calm of someone who had been pushed too far and would now stop at nothing to exact her revenge. She began to walk forward slowly, her body trembling not just with fatigue but with rage, pure, undulated rage, her gun fixed on the man whom she detested so strongly.  
  
"I am sick and tired of your games, your entire government and their secret plots. You have fed us exactly what we needed for the past decade to further your end, the very end we sought to expose. We have been violated and we have been lied to, cheated a thousand times over, and all our work has become nothing more than a joke, and if not a joke it has been destroyed. And now, when we finally learn the truth, that we only have nine years left to live, you come along and mess with our minds a little more, push us and manipulate us and use us just like you always have and WHY? WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LEAVE US ALONE! We never did anything to you! We just wanted to find the truth, we just wanted to live, in peace, knowing what was to happen and savoring our final moments. And now you want to take away the ONE thing that I need more than anything in the world and use him just as you always have. And I won't have it! HE BELONGS TO ME!"  
  
She was now up at point-blank range and raised the shaking gun to the man's head. He still appeared unperturbed by the display, detached, somehow.  
  
"Go ahead. Shoot me. Stain your hands with my blood."  
  
"I will not hesitate," she whispered. "I have nothing else to gain from you."  
  
"But if you kill me, will not the government be forced to take drastic action? Will not you be hunted down and committed to a life of criminality, doomed to be a fugitive?" He took a long puff on his cigarette, billowing smoke out from betwixt his lips.  
  
"Where we go, you will not find us."  
  
"How can you be so sure?" Another puff.  
  
"Because I know the truth, and I know how to save you from it. Isn't that what you want? You lead us on this crusade so that you might find a way to save yourselves because you couldn't support yourselves, because there was a traitor in your midst who set all your plans crumbling?"  
  
The man said nothing, only took another puff of his cigarette.  
  
"You wouldn't kill me, or Mulder. You wouldn't take the risk that you and your filthy government pigs wouldn't be able to discover a way to save your sorry asses. And you wouldn't do anything that might jeopardize that – you wouldn't force us underground. Because we can go where no one will ever find us. We've done it before and we'll do it again."  
  
"So then shoot, if you will. What's stopping you? Why are you holding back?"  
  
"Because you don't deserve to die. You need to live with what you've done, the acts of injustice you have committed not just against our species but others, against Extraterrestrial Biological Entities."  
  
She stared at him for several moments before speaking again. "We're going to leave now, and we're going to leave unhindered. And if you so much as blink I will shoot you. Not anywhere lethal, but trust me – you will be in a great deal of pain and severely incapacitated."  
  
Without putting her gun on safety she turned to her partner, assessing his injuries with the objectiveness of the doctor she was. Slipping her arm beneath his, she somehow managed to push him to his feet, though the effort was more than she should have been able to accomplish. Ah, the blessed effects of adrenaline.  
  
Stumbling to the door, they slipped out of the condemned building, and Mulder was deposited in the back seat of the car before Scully drove them both to the hospital.  
  
-----------------2----------------  
  
Scully was dozing in the chair at Mulder's bedside, catching up on sleep she'd been deprived of for far too long. The stress had been another thing entirely, and her explosion at Cigarette Smoking Man, not to mention news of her mother's death. But in her dreams, she could almost see the cure, see it as a sandcastle just formed but now eroding and if she could only just piece together what it would once look like she would have it...  
  
She tossed her head, fingers instinctively curling around Mulder's, limp in her hand. What was it? What was the cure?  
  
----------------------3---------------------  
  
"Mom? Mom?" Scully squinted into the white haze, straining to determine if the woman standing before her was indeed her mother.  
  
"Mom, is that you?"  
  
"Ssshh, Dana, it's all right."  
  
"Mom, Mom, what did they do to you, are you all right? Mom?"  
  
"It's all right, Dana, it really is – he saved me, Dana, he helped me to move on before it was too late."  
  
"Mom, Mom, I don't understand. Why did you have to die?" Tears fell down her cheeks in unashamed streams, eyes round and innocent like a child's. "Why did you have to leave me?"  
  
"Dana – there are those who would have taken what I needed to move on, would have taken my anchor from me, and without that anchor I'd not have been able to pass."  
  
"Mom, what are you talking about...? I don't understand, help me to understand - "  
  
"Dana, Dana, you have to figure it out for yourself, if you don't the truth won't do you a bit of good. You already have everything you need – you just need to open your eyes."  
  
"But Mom - "  
  
"I have to go, Dana." She flashed a lop-sided grin. "Your father is waiting for me."  
  
------------------4-------------------  
  
Mulder opened his eyes blearily, straining to see, which resulted in double vision and a sudden bout of nausea. Fortunately, he had nothing to vomit.  
  
"Scully?"  
  
She started awake, wiping her face and eyes. Was she – was she crying? His vision settled and he could see no trace of tears, but that didn't mean anything.  
  
"Hey, Mulder, how are you feeling?"  
  
"Like I was shot, hit by a truck, and then run over by a street sweeper."  
  
She chuckled and Mulder smiled, glad to see her laughing after so long without it.  
  
"Although, Scully, I am quite curious as to how I belong to you." He smiled as much as he could, given the circumstances, knowing full well it was asymmetrical.  
  
Scully was silent for a moment, trying to formulate an acceptable response when it hit her that was she said didn't have to be acceptable. They'd just been through hell and back for each other and they were still beating around the bush, just as they always had. And that was when the sandcastle came into view, came into focus. An anchor. Someone or something to keep you stable, something that could hold you no matter what, no matter how bad the seas or the storms. Someone or something that even after death had such a hold on you that you could be reborn, live on, in any form, and still be uniquely you.  
  
She grinned, a full smile, one she hadn't worn very often as of late.  
  
"You're my anchor – I really do know the cure, Mulder. I know it and I think you know it, too, you just have to open your eyes."  
  
"I think that this experience has already opened them for me," he spoke softly, eyes staring at the wall behind her before hesitantly sliding to hers.  
  
He broke into a smile and they both laughed, let out all the stress and sorrow and let the barriers crumble, let the river flow unhindered, let their laughter carry it all away.  
  
-----------------------5---------------------  
  
He stepped into the meadow, more than glad to be out of London and into the fresh English countryside. It had been so long since he could be in touch with the nature of this planet, a nature that would probably be permanently soiled in the coming invasion. But now he was content to simply stand and enjoy it, breathe in the fresh air, let his worries melt away.  
  
The field was bathed in silver, a crescent hanging with the starts against the fall of night. He allowed his form to shift fully into its natural state, shedding his clothing and stepping from it and into the field, eyes closed and raised to the sky.  
  
Soon now...soon.  
  
A breeze stirred the grasses and washed over him, a lover's touch.  
  
He opened his eyes, black orbs staring into an even greater black as they searched for a ship. It didn't take long before it hovered into view, and he was soon bathed in a light much purer than that of the moon. He surrendered himself to the light, let it carry him upwards and into the great piece of metal, let it take him even closer to home.  
  
For home was where he longed to be.  
  
----------------------------End He Belongs to Me--------------------------  
  
That's right everyone, it's finished, and I worked my butt off (though happily, I must add) to bring it to you! I hope you few readers enjoyed reading this, I know I certainly enjoyed writing it – I love it when everything comes together so perfectly. I will probably be going through the chapters and fixing grammatical and spelling errors sometime in the near future, so that you can read it and it will make more sense! THANK YOU!  
  
Word Count: 1,704 


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